The child dreamt of light and of the heroines of a hundred tales, of white ships in gleaming seas flying flags in bright red, of triumphs immortalized under banners of rose fields so vivid they were fire. There was considerably less glory in accounting and inventorying crates of common goods the way a dockside worker might. That the Rose could never function without an extensive support network was not unknown to Marinor, of course, but nevertheless bitter thoughts burrowed deep within. Those who save the world cannot do so without the aid of those who feed them, she told herself, knowing it to be true but struggling to believe it.

There was more vanity in her than she had known until now, she realized while writing down lists of supplies to be loaded into wayns, predicting how many ryals the expedition to Loclain might require for unexpected expenses, and setting aside equipment to resupply Agaepsonia, which long held only a token garrison. Marinor didn’t have to be a Blossom to do this work. It had always been her future, daughter of traders that she was. There were no statues sculpted for merchants, she thought, until realizing that there were, but it was by their own design, not to commemorate any true heroics.

Is that all I want? A statue? Praise? That, too, felt wrong. It was not glory that she wanted, that infantile aspiration, and she was a middle child, so she knew how to be silent and do her duty whether or not there was any gain. But Loclain was her home, and she should fight for it. Fight for it.

The Rose was, in truth, far too great a canvas for it to be shaped by the actions of a girl alone, even the newly-ascended head of the Office of the Treasury. The sums she handled and the funds she had access to were incalculable, enough to inspire wonder even in the daughter of Loclain’s wealthiest clan. The nobility of the House of Mycroft was a purchased title, not even one hundred years old, acquired by a resourceful grandsire who used it to open doors that led to the family’s splendid wealth. But they had no storied lineages nor the blood of kings or heroes. Steel and steam had made their fortune, but this sort of wealth and the progress it brought was of the future, and Loclain, for good or ill, clung to its past.

And the Tower of Rebirth was older still. The only reason a number could be reached when counting the worth of the treasures kept here was that some such relics were priceless, beyond the means of the Basileus himself. Know the value of all things and not merely their price, her mother had advised her in her childhood. The Lumenvasculum itself and the gifts it could bestow were a prize beyond measure, the Vessel of Light alone sufficient to make the Ruby Blossom the oldest, greatest power in the world.

I should just hand them some billions of ryals and that will last them this expedition and a hundred more. That would require letters of credit, however, and slips of paper and contracts had value only as far as they were acknowledged as legitimate. Even cold silver and gold and gleaming jewels were worth little when one could not trade them. In Loclain’s most savage regions, there was no sum that could buy one’s life and safety.

Footsteps interrupted her thoughts and tedious toil, two arrivals from the sounds of it. Marinor turned back to greet them, expecting her two adjutants, Ebriss and Loreana, but was met by other girls instead, one whose company she quite welcomed, and the other not so much. Stelmaria and Elanor must have crossed paths on their way to the Office of the Treasury, as Marinor could not imagine them being together otherwise. It took a sort of patience to endure Elanor that Stel lacked. For that matter, so did Marinor, when caught unawares.

“You are frowning,” Elanor called out to her. “I suppose that, given the circumstances, it would be unusual if you were smiling.”

“Is there something I can help you with?” Marinor asked, not particularly interested in indulging Elanor in her boredom. From Stelmaria’s awkward, fidgety demeanor, it didn’t seem like it had been her intention to accompany Elanor.

“My, you assumed that I had come here to ask you for something? Miss Mycroft, I assure you that I am the one who means to offer aid. You’re making arrangements for the journey to Loclain.”

“I am.”

“I was affirming that, not asking. I already know the answer. It is the most pressing matter currently, after all, and the rest of your Office is preoccupied with… Other affairs of consequence, I suppose. All eyes will drift towards Sieglinde’s expedition, and it must bear the fruits of triumph, because our Rose needs a victory desperately. My sister has informed me that she intends to return to us only when she can bring good news about her duties at Mirvholl, and who knows when that’ll be. I can’t imagine what there is to be gained in that savage, plagued hole half a world away, so she might just be avoiding me, perhaps.”

“Your point being…?”

“Are you in a hurry? From what I can tell, you have nowhere to be. But I suppose Stelmaria does, so I’ll be brief,” said she who had never once been brief. “Sieglinde must succeed, for if our Rose cannot safeguard Loclain not too far from us, then our authority is but a wisp of smoke. But Sieglinde is in many ways a traditionalist. The Blossom that forged her is no longer the flower we now must tend to. Lady Varvozi has asked that we take some measures to ensure success.”

“That is not her authority,” Marinor complained. Priscilla Varvozi was the newly-appointed head of the Office of Nunciature, so it was diplomacy which should concern her.

“As of now, authority is fluid, and within the reach of those who grasp for it. You would do well to remember that, and the high position you find yourself in. You may be unwilling to overreach, but your peers won’t be. The Office of Deterrence has expressed discomfort in Sieglinde bringing such a small force with her. You are requested to provide funds for the acquisition of contracts with mercenaries.”

“Lady Santia can ask me that herself.”

“She is quite occupied, Miss Mycroft,” said Elanor, and Marinor wished she could be anywhere else. Let someone else deal with these mundane matters while Marinor joined the girls headed to Loclain. That’s what she should do. “The Office of Artifice has also offered aid,” she seemed particularly excited about this, proudly pointing to the large metal case she had brought with her.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Have they made you a messenger, now?” Marinor asked. Elanor didn’t seem to realize the offense that was meant, so Marinor decided to make it clearer. “They’ve reached for power, as you said, so why have you not done so?”

“Because I know better than to expect the stone beneath and around us to bend with no repercussions. The Tower has known many names and many titles through the ages, and I find the most evocative to be Stonetree. An ancient thing, a fathom beyond what one lifetime can begin to grasp. There is a danger to seeking this sort of power, or to have it thrust upon you. That danger has no allure to me. Whether I could shape the stones or be shaped by them is an answer I’m content with closing my eyes to. But you are here now, and if your naivete allows your fellow Blossoms to use you to further their ends, I fear the consequences that would have upon our troubled house.”

“You are generous to freely share your insight,” Marinor said, “which I will keep in mind. Now, I believe Stel wanted a moment of my time, too?”

“I did,” she said, though Elanor, unaware that those words were Marinor’s way of politely telling her to leave promptly and not return, remained there, always with her easy smile. “We’ve not had many opportunities to talk as of late. We’ve all been busy, you more than most. But I could not bear to depart without meeting you one more time.”

“Do not speak like that,” in Stel’s company, Marinor soon found herself at ease, almost enough to forget the irksome presence nearby. “As though it were a final meeting. If you do, you’ll tempt me into relinquishing my duties and joining you in Loclain. Perhaps I’ll do that regardless.”

“You should stay,” she said. “Though were I in your position, I would find that impossible, too. What is home but a place we must fiercely fight for? When I arrived here, it was always with the intention of returning to Loclain at the end of my initiation. It feels bitter, then, to advise you to remain here, when you are the most familiar face I found in the Rose. I am grateful for your care and aid in my years of training, particularly when you are but two years my elder, if that. I have relied upon you in my time here, as have many of us girls from Loclain. At times I wonder if it was too unfair of a demand upon you.”

“It was always my pleasure, and my privilege,” Marinor spoke truly.

“All the same, as much as I would be glad to have you by my side, I think it is auspicious to have such a position occupied by a daughter of Loclain. I am certain that our home will not be forgotten, with you here to fight for it in your own way. If ever you think that what you’re doing is not of the utmost importance, remember my words to the contrary. I feel comfortable knowing that should we ever need resources, reinforcements, we can rely on you.”

“With you flattering me like that, I’ll be sure to hide away some sweets in your purse,” Marinor giggled.

“Heh, to this day I find it hard to believe you’re not an eldest sister. You have that demeanor about you.”

In truth, my bloom-sisters are closer to my heart than my siblings by blood. They had never been part of her life, Marcel preoccupied with an heir's education, Elric a difficult, unpleasant child.

“You’d make a fine older sister,” Elanor intruded. “Adequate, certainly. I have an eye for the matter, I’d say. Ah, Miss Cleirn, I have a gift for you! An opportunity to play the elder sister, what a treasure. You needn’t even thank me, for I am only looking out for you… But you will thank me, for you are a polite young girl.”

“T-Thank you…?” She said, confused. “A gift…?”

“Here!” She reached for a tome within the bag she carried, and put it onto Stel’s hands before she could react. It was a heavy volume, bound in unusual leather. A brief glimpse inside revealed a dense read, endless pages writ in letters that demanded squinting eyes to make sense of. “Know thy enemy, and they shall keep no secrets from you.”

“Is this…” Marinor had an inkling, but surely Elanor wouldn’t be so audacious. Then again, Elanor seemed to find outrage and surprise quite curious.

“One of the Tomes of Birthright and Dusk,” she said, beaming. “I took it from the Office of Arbitration, as there was no one there to protest, and no knowledge is so dangerous that it does more good buried than studied. You may find it illuminating. If we are to wipe out the Gairning Host to the last man, you’d do well to understand their superstitions and follies. I could not locate the other Tomes, however. There ought to be twelve others, but we’ve secured only the fifth, the Book of Grief and Dust. Rather edifying, in its own way.”

“I cannot take this,” Stelmaria said with unconcealed disgust. “It is… It is one of the foulest heresies. Every tenet of the Sect of Dusk is one of the dark blasphemies we fight to quell. There is nothing worth learning here.”

“Then burn it,” Elanor shrugged. “Feed it to the beasts, if you’d prefer that. But I have read it, and I must insist that the refusal to engage with these heresies and to understand our enemies’ beliefs is why they have managed to endure. Why do they fight, knowing they relinquish their lives in taking up arms against the Ruby Blossom? Why would they pledge so much to mindless chthonic monstrosities, rather than our kin the Nightshades of Mahenvort?” Marinor held her tongue and refrained from reminding Elanor that implying those felbirthed witches barring the gates of hell were their kin was uncomfortably close to heresy, too.

“So be it,” said Stel. Whether she truly acquiesced or simply wished that Elanor be silent, Marinor couldn’t tell. “Anything that can expedite the deserved end of diabolists is worth consideration. Thank you, Lady Hilssgar.”

“Indeed, aren’t I oh so helpful, and you so endearingly courteous? I’ll try to give more gifts to you, when you return triumphant. Whenever that is.”

“It may take some time,” Stel admitted. “Even longer, if not for Marinor remaining here. Save for you,” she turned to face her, offering one of her rarest, purest smiles, “all the friends I care about will accompany me to Loclain.”

“If you treasure them so dearly, my heart will be at ease, confident in your safety,” Marinor said. “I know them to be fine, reliable young ladies. Not that much younger than myself, in truth, so I should perhaps not speak so much like your wise elder…”

“Good fortune to you, then,” said Stelmaria. Elanor, likely bored of this sentimentality, finally departed, granting the two the privacy of a tight embrace, and Stel the bold gesture of laying her lips on Marinor’s hand, her chivalric manners unforgotten, quaint as some might find them. Marinor found their honesty charming. “Though you do so despise them, I ask you the indulgence of a farewell.”

Marinor had expected this. She offered Stel her favor, the way noble ladies so commonly did in olden years, with a peck on the cheek and a ribbon tied to the hilt of her sword. A brief melancholy glinted in Stel’s eyes, memories of the fallen prince and princess, both of whom she championed eagerly.

“Until we meet again,” Marinor promised. “In a freer, brighter Loclain.”